60th's camp, sixth night

Joe Newbury was in a rare low mood. Not only had he managed to overlook the presence of Frenchmen close to the main column, he'd managed to be captured by those same Frenchmen and had endured a pointed humiliation at their hands. And he'd lost the rabbit that he'd shot to boot.

At least his rifle had been recovered, but that was small comfort in the face of the knowledge that he was in for trouble with Captain Vickery once the officer came round the campfire. It was in part for that reason that Newbury was tucked away in the shadows, where he might not be so easily spotted. It went without saying that he was too embarrassed with his overall lack of alertness to be near the rest of his company anyway.

Dinner had been less than expected; bread and cheese with a thin spreading of butter that Ben Jacklin had somehow acquired at the last village they'd stopped at. It was a far cry from hot rabbit stew. Newbury alternately nibbled half-heartedly on his hunk of cheese and worked carefully to repair his button-less trousers. The bright side of the entire day was that he was finally forced to thread his sewing needle and work on his uniform.

Cotton was sitting by the fire with a mug of tea. He'd been annoyed at missing the action, but that couldn't be helped. He get his turn soon enough, them being at war and everything. It seemed quieter than usual at the fire, and he realised that Joe Newbury wasn't sitting with them but had withdrawn into the shadows. He wondered what was going on.

He'd finished his own supper and was enjoying his tea, but couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the other lad. He got up, wincing a little in discomfort as one of the deeper welts pulled, and moved over to sit next to Joe.

"You all right there, mate?" he said. "Why don't you come an' sit by the fire? It'd be easier to see what you'm doin."

Hunter squeezed Firebird's flanks to let her know it was time to stop. 'Excuse me, I'm looking for John Newbury', he said in his best officer voice.

"You've found his mess, sir," Cotton said, standing up. If Joe was going to be in any more trouble, the lads would cover for him. He went to take the horse's bridle, and realised the officer - from the 52nd, he thought - was riding bareback. That was unusual, to say the least. And weren't the 52nd still at home in England?

'Ah, good' he noticed the surprise in Rifleman's eyes when the man noticed the lack of the saddle and smiled a little. 'Is he around? I am to deliver this rabbit to him'.

"He's just over there, sir."

Rabbit? What was going on?

It looked as though they might get a decent dinner out of it, though, so he kept his questions to himself and pointed to where Newbury was sitting, still sewing buttons on.

(OOC - his player's not around at the moment, though, and I'm not sure when she will be.)

Hunter got off the horse and strode purposefully to Joe Newbury. 'I have been asked to deliver this rabbit for your mess, courtesy of anonymous benefactor', Hunter gave the man a small self-deprecating smile, and nodding politely at the Rifleman who spoke to him first, got back onto the horse.

Cotton blinked. That was... nice of whoever it was. Though why they should single out Joe Newbury and his mates, Cotton had no idea. "Would you... would you tell him thanks, sir?" he said, wondering who in the world it could be.

'Of course, Rifleman. Good night'. He nudged Firebird and rode off back to Wellesley's quarters.

That meant they could have a proper dinner, then. He had no idea what the words 'anonymous benefactor' meant, though it was plain that whoever it was wanted to keep his identity secret.

Which Cotton could understand. After all, who went around donating dead rabbits to the stewpots of common Riflemen?

Newbury hadn't expected to be addressed, and the surprise of it had caused him to stick himself in the finger with his sewing needle. Thus, he didn't immediately reply to Cotton's question for he'd stuck his injured finger into his mouth - which was probably just as well for the moment.

The appearance of a red-coat officer and his delivery of a rabbit made Newbury stare like a wide-eyed schoolboy. What was that about? He left his sewing and went over, a little hesitantly, to where Cotton was still standing with the rabbit in hand.

"Certainly the day for unexpected happenings," he said blandly. "Who'd send a rabbit, anyhow?"

"He didn't say. Said it was fr'm an an-onny-muss benny-fact-er. Whatever that means. Asked for you, though he called you John Newbury."

He was already planning the meal in his mind. He knew where there was an onion stowed away, and some of the others probably had some potatoes between them. And that, with a little salt, would make for a much better meal than the plain bread and cheese they'd had.

John. Newbury chuckled. Whoever that officer was, he was terrible with names.

"Bit of luck for us, I suppose, whoever the rabbit came from. Lads'll be pleased."

Newbury bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully and added, "Thanks for steppin' in just now, too. Red-coat officers ain't been much for bringing good things today." The memory of General Wellesley's interrogation was still bright and fresh.

"S'all right. Didn't think you wanted him to see you, like. Redcoat officers ain't much f'r bringing good things anyway. Be nice to have a proper hot dinner, though." He looked down at Newbury's handiwork. "How's the trousers doin'?"

He wasn't entirely clear what had happened that afternoon, but whatever it was had clearly embarrassed his friend, and he'd only be more embarrassed at having to answer questions about it, however innocent the questions were.

(OOC - I've got work this afternoon, I'm afraid, so I will have to love you and leave you, and hope to see you later!)

"Aye," he answered, forcing a shrug. The day was over and tomorrow would, hopefully, be different.

Newbury glanced down at the half-finished trousers. "They're nearly done. Couple more buttons left."


(I'll be out for a good bit this morning myself. Ceremony at the post cemetery, that I should be leaving for... now. >_> )